


Let the Songbird Sing

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, First Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by digdigil. Warning: Slash. Maglor son of Fëanor, and Daeron, minstrel and loremaster of Doriath, meet at High King Fingolfin's Mereth Aderthad (Feast of Reuniting). What happens next? Thank you to Claudielf for his wonderful beta reading and advice with this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Pools of Ivrin

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at HASA, which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the HASA collection profile.

Maglor noticed how the air smelled of distant pine and fresh river water as he rode alongside Maedhros. Their horses kept a slow, languorous pace trotting through the foothills of the Ered Wethrin. They were traveling to the Pools of Ivrin where the River Narog began and where Fingolfin's great feast was to be held. But the second son of Fëanor was sad of heart and not in the mood for rejoicing.

He had only once spoken of his sorrow to his older brother, an unusual thing in itself because Maedhros had always been his closest friend and confidante. Maglor struggled with dreadful regret that weighed upon his conscience like a stone upon a spiderweb, and he felt just as downcast and low. He had felt the pressure of a steely hand gripping his heart as if trying to destroy it when he had witnessed the horrific death of his father. For many nights afterward he could not sleep for the turmoil in his mind. He felt the hopelessness of the oathtaking then, at that time of calamity, and he worried constantly about the doom that he sensed was to befall the remnant of his family. But he never before had spoken of that doom to Maedhros.

Maedhros, whom he and his other brothers used to call "Maitimo" or "Nelyo," noticed how glum Maglor had become on this trip, and spoke to him of his feelings. "Macalaure, I have not seen you smile since we began this journey," he remarked with concern, staring long at Maglor with deep green eyes expressing sadness. Worry for his brother showed in the lines on his face.

Maglor sighed and answered, "Nor will you. Would you have me smile, a sign that my heart is happy, when our father is so terribly, horribly dead? Can you imagine that the sight of his ruin would have any other effect on me, Nelyo? Not the least of my agonies is also the memory of the fell work that has been our most notorious accomplishment thus far – the slaying of our own kin!"

Maedhros and Maglor had not spoken to each other of their individual feelings about both the oathtaking and the kinslaying in the twenty years or so since Fëanor's death, but over Maedhros's imprisonment upon Thangorodrim and eventual rescue by their cousin they had shed many tears. It was obvious to all of the brothers that Maglor was not as committed to the oath they, and that he struggled with his conscience daily. Maedhros could see the pain in his brother's face. He could not answer that question, and he did not speak to Maglor about his gloomy appearance again for a long time.

As they rode toward the Pools among their contingent of warriors from Himlad, the brothers could see many other Elves also riding through the green valley. They could feel the unusual serenity that hung in the air of that region, a feeling different from that of their home in the colder regions of Middle-earth. And yet the calmness and beauty of their surroundings did nothing to improve Maglor's morose spirit.

Maedhros glanced his way as they rode into the area of the Pools, a look of worry permanently etched upon his fine features. Fingolfin had erected an elaborate encampment where the feast was to take place, and they traveled past several checkpoints and guides until they reached their destination. After they had arrived, dismounted and were on their way into their uncle's tent to greet him, Maedhros leaned over to say a few words into Maglor's ear. Maglor suddenly leaned away from his brother and pulled up the high collar of his black cloak up around his ears, rebuffing Maedhros in a gesture of irritation.

"Macalaure," advised Maedhros, speaking his brother's Quenya name in a low hiss. "Please try to gather your nerves at least and try to enjoy yourself while we are here. For too long you have been in this despairing mood. Now it is time to let your emotions settle, fraternize with our kinsmen, and try to assimilate some joy if you can."

Maglor gave a look of warning and stalked silently into Fingolfin's tent beside Maedhros. He forced himself to make pleasantries and small talk with his relatives. It had been a long time since Maedhros and Fingon, once best of friends, had seen each other and after a greeting of broad grins and delighted hugs, the two walked off together. Maglor excused himself and went outside after exchanging a few words with Fingolfin, who told him that he hoped his nephew would grace the gathering later on with a song in his famously rich and far-carrying voice. The minstrel mumbled a few words of reluctant agreement and left the tent.

His mood was dark, but he wished to shake it. He did not desire to lower the mood of anyone else he chanced to meet, and so he decided to walk to the water's edge in hope of having his spirits lifted by the soothing crystal waves of this lovely place. He bent down to pick up a long, sturdy branch that had fallen on the ground to use as a walking stick. As he moved slowly along, winding his way through green pathways between pools until he came to a waterfall, he inhaled deeply of the fragrant air infused with the mist that arose from the falls, and relished the sound of the gently falling water that drowned out all other noise. He sat down upon a rock by the water's edge and drew imaginary musical scales on the ground with the stick. Soon he became lost in devising a tune that matched the lilt and cadence of the falling water, and before long he was humming and composing, oblivious to all else around him.

At length, after Maglor had been immersed in his musical exercise for some time, he was joined by another Elf who had wandered up behind him unnoticed and stood still without interrupting the Noldorin minstrel as he sang and composed his song. This strange Elf stood listening intently to Maglor's melody and watched him draw his notes and scales on the ground. And then he began to sing also, in his own language.

Maglor's voice was a deep, rich baritone that, when he wished to sing at full volume, would easily carry over the soft, rustling sound of the falls to be heard clearly over the entire lands of Mithrim. But this new Elf possessed a voice of such melodic sweetness, clear tone and hypnotic quality, that it caused all those who heard it to stop what they were doing and stand still to listen, transfixed. The two Elves thus sang a duet together for a brief moment, their two distinct voices mingling perfectly, one deep and resonating, the other high, melodic and exquisitely clear.

Startled out of his deep concentration, Maglor turned around suddenly and beheld his visitor. It was a Sindarin Elf, he could see, grey-cloaked and simply dressed in tight-fitting clothing. He was smaller in stature, with fine, light-brown hair blowing in the breeze and large, sad-looking eyes. "Forgive me," said Maglor, stuttering in his surprise. "I – I was lost for a moment." The stranger smiled then with a puzzled look, and Maglor beheld his youthful face, almost girlish in its wide-eyed sweetness. "Your voice is breathtaking," the Noldo continued. "Quite unlike anything I have ever heard."

This Elf spoke a different language, yet Maglor could understand it partially if he concentrated hard on the words. He repeated some of them to the Sinda, mixed with his own Quenya. The Sinda looked a little puzzled, but struggled to understand what Maglor said. Together they persisted long at trying to learn each other's language until Maglor at last had learned enough of the Sindarin structure for them to converse more easily.

"Your voice has a unique quality," said the Sinda. "And I confess that I was intrigued as I stood here watching you compose. Your work is quick and concise. Its simplicity is deceiving. The song contains a haunting melody of an intoxicating sadness. I detected that the underlying melancholy runs deeper than the ordinary listener would discern."

"You are very astute. Do you also compose music?" asked Maglor.

"Yes. Please forgive me. My name is Daeron. I am minstrel to King Thingol of Doriath and also one of his loremasters." Daeron then held out his hand and Maglor stood and grasped it.

"Daeron! Word has reached me of your musical skills, and your fame in devising the Cirth is well known in Himlad. I am Maglor, son of –" and he stopped abruptly, his gaze faltering, as he knew not how to continue.

"I would have guessed your name, for your fame as a singer and composer has also reached Doriath," said Daeron. "Do not worry," he added as he noticed Maglor's discomfort. "I do not concern myself with matters of war. A warrior I am not, and have no interest in fighting. My concern is with music foremost, and also lore and history among my own people. I do not wish to involve myself in past conflicts. Is it not the aim of this gathering to establish friendly relations among all the people of Beleriand?"

"You are wise as well as skilled," remarked Maglor as he let Daeron's hand drop finally. "Do you travel here alone or have you a companion?"

"Yes, I have come with Mablung, who is one of the marchwardens of our realm. Now HE is a warrior, and quite a fierce one when he wants to be," Daeron said, and he laughed.

"I see," said Maglor, looking at Daeron curiously. He could detect that there was something fey about the Sindarin minstrel, and it strangely intrigued him. "Are you close to him?"

Daeron looked startled by Maglor's bluntness, immediately discerning his meaning. "No. My interests of the heart lie elsewhere, as do his," he said with seriousness. "Alas. No. My own romantic desire is unlikely to be realized, as the one I love is unreachable."

Maglor's curiosity was further piqued by this strange minstrel with the fey appearance, but he abruptly changed the subject, not wishing to cause Daeron any distress. "Would you like to finish composing this song with me?" he asked. "Then when it is complete I was thinking that we could sing it together at the feast this evening. Uncle Nolofin- er – Fingolfin has asked me to sing tonight, but I think it would be a sign of our peoples' new and friendly cohabitation if you and I were to do it together."

"It would be my great pleasure," replied Daeron, beaming radiantly. "To compose and then sing a duet with the great Maglor of the house of Fëanor is a dream beyond the reaches of my imagination."

Maglor stared hard at Daeron once more, intrigued by his appearance of obsequiousness, yet he was sure that was not Daeron's meaning. But as the two Elves sat together and composed both music and lyrics for their song, Maglor's spirits began to lift. He felt as if a heavy cloak were removed from his shoulders, or as if he were emerging from beneath the oppression of a bleak winter into the fresh warm sunshine of a green spring.


	2. Mereth Aderthad

The feast had been a grand success, and it went on for several days as all the people in attendance rejoiced in peace and freedom and the exhilaration of celebrating newfound friendships and the end of war. Fingolfin made several speeches on the subject of reunification every time the throngs of people came together for dinner. The first time that Maglor and Daeron sang their song, entitled "Hand in Hand," it was so well received that they were asked to sing it several more times over the gloriously heady days that followed, and were enthusiastically asked if they would compose more music together. The two minstrels happily agreed to do so.

Maglor had been sharing a tent with Maedhros but his brother had not been sleeping there. Maglor invited Daeron to join him in order to collaborate on their new songs. Several times they worked hard through the night on their music, and fell asleep together, exhausted.

One such time Maedhros returned from his celebrations in the early hours of morning for a change of clothing and discovered Maglor and Daeron asleep in the tent, surrounded by scattered sheets of parchment. Daeron's harpwas enfolded in his arms and Maglor lay beside the Sinda with one foot resting atop Daeron's leg. Maedhros smiled at the peaceful look upon his brother's face, and made sure that he spoke to him about it later.

"My dear brother," he said to Maglor as the two bathed together in one of the freshwater pools, lying back and allowing the sparkling crystal water to envelop their bodies in its refreshing embrace. "It has not gone beyond my notice that your spirits have become much improved since our arrival here. I feel that it must be due to the skilful attention of your little Sindarin minstrel. Please remind me to thank him the next time I see him."

Maglor, annoyed by the veiled inference, retorted, "How is cousin Findekáno? You seem to have monopolized his attention here, for I have not seen either of you since we first arrived."

"He is well," replied Maedhros nonchalantly, refusing to nibble at Maglor's bait. "Oh, look. There is your minstrel now, in the company of his Sindarin soldier." A motion of his copper head drew Maglor's attention to the grassy bank where Daeron walked with Mablung, accompanied by a mixed group of both Noldor and Sindar. The group stopped several yards away from the pool and continued their lively conversation.

The two brothers regarded the group from where they bathed, letting the chest-high waves lap against their bodies as they stirred the water with their feet. Maglor noticed that as Daeron spoke in an animated manner to the others, Mablung would laugh out loud at intervals. Every time he did so, he would either clasp Daeron around the neck and shake him slightly, or he would bump against him with his hip, causing Daeron to stumble, laugh, and then elbow Mablung in the ribs in return. Mablung was very attractive, and very masculine for a Sinda, Maglor thought. His hair was dark, almost as dark as a Noldo's, and his bright blue eyes flashed when he was excited. He was large for a Sinda, well-built and muscular, as befitted his warrior status.

Every time that Daeron and Mablung touched each other, Maglor felt a pang of hurt in his belly, and then was angry with himself for feeling upset by the thought that Daeron and Mablung might possibly be lovers. When he thought about it rationally, he remembered that Daeron had told him Mablung's romantic interests lay elsewhere, and that he, also, loved another who was unattainable. Maglor vowed to question Daeron again about this mysterious love interest.

"His soldier friend is very comely, don't you think?" Maedhros asked in a teasing manner. "Are you jealous of him?"

Maglor spurted water out of his mouth and nose in a derisive snort. He had ducked underwater and now rose and shook his wet hair, spraying droplets over Maedhros' upper body. "He is not half as attractive as our cousin Findekáno," he retorted, vowing not to let Maedhros get the better of this jesting match. "But you would know more than I any intimate details of our cousin's beauty," he said finally, and was rewarded by a flashing spark of anger in Maedhros' eyes.

The red-headed Elf grasped Maglor by the shoulder and began to propel him toward the shore. "Come on," he said. "Let us go to greet your little Sinda. Let him see you in all your glory. He should be quite impressed if he has not already seen it."

Those on the bank turned to watch the two Noldorin brothers emerge from the water. After a brief shoving match in which the group of Elves was treated to a display of lean muscles and long, sinewy limbs being flexed in a series of pushes, thrusts and jabs, Maedhros and Maglor stopped to pick up their clothing from atop a rock and dress themselves. The two tall Noldorin princes had impressed the Sindarin Elves with their stature and appearance. Although Maedhros, the taller of the two, possessed hair of a glorious auburn-red and was of magnificent form, Maglor was also strikingly handsome, slender and lithe, with a rich mane of dark, almost-black hair, and deep, dark eyes set in an expressive, soulful face. Daeron stared long in appreciation at his newfound friend and collaborator. When the two Noldorin brothers finished dressing and had joined the other Elves, Daeron and Maglor exchanged glances. Both were aware that he felt something unusual for the other.

Later, while they were busy collaborating on their new song that they tentatively called "Harmonious Lives", Maglor bluntly asked Daeron about the statement he had made at their first meeting, concerning his inaccessible love.

"She is the King's daughter", Daeron replied. "I believe she is too good for me, although we are friends and I see her almost every day. We used to play together as children. I have known her and loved her all of my life."

"Is it a love born more out of friendship than lust?" asked Maglor, feeling that bluntness was serving him well as it brought Daeron out of his shell.

"Ah, but she is the most beautiful maiden in existence," enthused Daeron. "You should see her, Maglor. There could not be a man that lives who would not fall in love with her at first sight."

Maglor gave a deep sigh. "I loved a maid as well once", he said, "but she stayed behind in the Blessed Realm. She would not join me on the march. I am afraid that my brothers and I have made many enemies, and for me, every single one is regrettable."

Daeron looked at him, sad eyes becoming deeper and darker in sympathy. He put a soft hand upon Maglor's arm. "Do not despair, friend Maglor", he said gently, running his hand along Maglor's sleeve. "You may do well from now on to atone for your misadventures of the past. But let us not dwell on that, while there are happier thoughts to have."

"Now what would those happier things be?" asked Maglor, his voice a mere whisper as he stared into the bewitching hazel eyes of the Sindarin minstrel. And then Daeron began to softly hum a lovely tune that had eluded him previously as they worked on their new song.

"That is the melody!" cried Maglor. "You have found it!" He happily grasped a sheaf of parchment to write down the notes that he heard from Daeron's lips. After the song was finished and put in writing, Daeron looked at Maglor with consternation on his face.

"I fear the song is not quite finished," he said sadly. It is lacking. It needs something that has been eluding me: something deeper, something more heartfelt."

"What is this deep, heartfelt thing?" asked Maglor, feeling exhilarated by the work they had just accomplished together, and yet frustrated by Daeron's dissatisfaction.

"It is knowledge, I feel; a certain kind of knowledge, of another person, of his soul, of his body, his physical presence, but also of his mind and his heart. A knowledge of body and soul together", Daeron repeated, looking both far away and within himself.

"You mean a marriage", stated Maglor. "Do you mean that if you had wed the king's daughter that you say you love hopelessly, then that experience would have given you more depth of knowledge that you could put into your composition?"

"Possibly", Daeron agreed. "It is not quite good enough to write songs of fear and loss and the sadness of unrequited love, but what of joyful songs of the knowledge of a deeper love? A realized love? I have never had that experience, and thus I do not feel my music is as profound as it could be or as I would like it to be. Yours, on the other hand ---," his voice trailed off as Maglor stared at him intently.

"You are a virgin then?" asked Maglor.

Daeron, shocked by the abrupt question, nodded silently. At length, he asked, "You are not?" although his was more a statement than a question.

"No," said Maglor. "I was married before. I know the joys of love with a maid. But there are other kinds of love that one can feel." He moved closer to Daeron, and as the smaller Elf looked at him questioningly, he bent and placed his lips upon those of the minstrel. He savoured the feel of the soft, moist flesh of his new friend's mouth for a moment, and then pulled away reluctantly. He looked searchingly into Daeron's eyes to see if the Sinda was upset or shocked by what he had done. Daeron looked puzzled at first and then confused, Maglor thought. But then he grabbed Maglor in a sudden embrace that surprised the Noldo with its ferocity. He pressed his lips firmly, passionately, upon Maglor's again, and the two Elves lost themselves in the lust they felt for each other.

That first time was a coming together of pure lust, of the desire to explore each other's bodies passionately, and of the lust to fulfil each other's need. They were wanton, abandoned, noisy and violent in the love they made to each other that first time. Silky skin created friction against satiny skin. Soft lips yielded to hard flesh. Searching hands explored private places with aching intimacy. Lithe limbs intertwined. That first tryst lasted for several intense hours, each Elf pleasurably battering the other until finally, sweaty and sated, they fell asleep naked and spent in each other's arms.


	3. Silence Surrounding

Upon awakening, Maglor and Daeron lay for a while together, each relishing the warm comfort of the other's proximity. For the first time in many years, Maglor felt happiness of a pure, joyful kind, where all things that had been troubling him had washed away like mud beneath a waterfall.

"It is strange," he thought as he stroked Daeron's hair against his shoulder, "How a small thing can alter one's perception so dramatically that everything thus changes. The past now becomes far away and no longer stays in the present to fill one's thoughts with its unchangeable sadness."

"It is no small thing that of which you speak," Daeron said aloud as he turned to face Maglor, his hair falling through Maglor's fingers like mercurial oil.

Maglor started. "You can read my mind?" he asked, staring at Daeron in wonder. The younger Elf nodded and smiled sweetly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But how?" asked Maglor. Daeron shrugged and leaned forward to kiss his lover's lips, letting his tongue protrude slightly to lick them first. Every part of Maglor's body became excited by that touch: everything became aroused and stirred. He felt completely alive again, a feeling he had not experienced for many years. He let himself fall into Daeron's caresses, abandoning himself to his emotions and the two made love again beneath the blankets.

Later, the two lovers walked to the falls by the Pools. They stood a while staring at the beauty of that place as the silvery water cascaded softly down the well-worn grayish rocks into clear pools below. Frothy foam rose up from the torrent and broke into the air, bits of white snapping off from the main suds and disappearing into the atmosphere like elusive butterflies. From the rocks on the other side grew tiny pink flowers of an intoxicating scent. It was sweet and light but quite insubstantial; there one moment, gone the next. Maglor turned and looked at Daeron. "Like you?" he wondered.

Maglor knew that the relationship could not last. They both had come from far away to this magical place where they had found each other. He knew that what he felt for Daeron was love, although he did not think that the Sinda's feelings for him ran as deeply. He feared that Daeron's true love was his first one: King Thingol's daughter, and that Maglor was merely a distraction while he was away from her. "I must prepare myself to lose him, just as I have lost everyone else that I have loved," Maglor thought, fiercely trying to hold onto his newfound happiness and to not let himself descend again into his old pit of despair.

Daeron spun around suddenly, his face a mask of anguish, a look of deep hurt within his soft hazel eyes as he gazed at Maglor's face in horror. "No!" he cried. "You cannot think such things! What must I do to convince you that I love you?" He put a hand to Maglor's face and brushed his fingers along the Noldo's prominent cheekbone, feeling for moisture, a tear, an outward sign of his distress. But there was none. Maglor's melancholy was deep. So superficial a thing as a tear could not easily break the surface of his pain. Daeron stood staring at him, shaking his head slowly.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he asked at length.

Maglor's lips twitched slightly, but he could not speak. His eyes held an expressive mix of profound confusion, loss, pain and despair; mingled with struggling hope and desperate love.

"Maglor." Daeron spoke so softly it was almost a whimper. "This feast will be over tomorrow. We have only a few hours left to be together until we depart. It will be terribly difficult for us to be together after that. We will be fortunate indeed if we can manage to see each other every few years. I would travel through dangerous lands without a care if I knew I would be with you at the end of my journey. Why do you doubt my love for you? How can I show you my feelings? I wish you could see their depths, as I can see yours. But I fear that nothing can penetrate your sorrow."

Maglor sighed before finding his voice. "You will be returning to your home and to her," he said, "Where you will be constantly in each other's company. How could you resist her then? Her beauty, which you have said is extraordinary, will captivate you once more when I am out of sight. You will see her daily. That is every day, Daeron," he said, emphasizing the last words. "You will not be able to resist her. Coming to visit me more than once every few years will be impossible. How would I be able to compete with her for your affection?"

Daeron uttered a strangled cry, his frustration with this stubborn Elf's oppressive melancholy that despaired of their newfound love. "Oh, you obstinate Goldion ass!" he spat. "You dwell too much on your pain! Live for now in the moment, can't you? It may be only one moment, but if you strive to make it the best of your life, then it shall last forever. You will have the memory of it to think on, and that will brighten your darkest hours, and warm the coldest nights."

Maglor stared at Daeron, shocked. No one had ever called him an obstinate Noldorin ass, not even Maedhros. Then as he watched in stunned silence, Daeron, who had burst into tears and was sobbing in frustration, began to disrobe. In front of the tall, Noldorin prince who stood still as a statue, the lithe little Sindarin minstrel stripped down to his bare skin and stood in the cold air of early spring. The slender beauty of his graceful form was a stark contrast to the dark green background of the misty, mossy riverbank upon which the two Elves stood.

"Come, Maglor," he said, and reached out for the Noldo's hands. "Come. Reassure me. Loosen your own clothing. Make love to me here by the falls, and afterward we shall sing of it, and you will remember it forever."

Maglor then loosened his robes and stripped bare before Daeron. He took the small, yearning Elf to his hard-muscled body, holding him closely. He pressed his face into the soft, yielding flesh of Daeron's upper arm, the Sinda's slender limb thrust upwards and his fingers clutched in the Noldo's silky hair. On the banks of the beginnings of the Narog River they made love, and it was as exquisite as Daeron had predicted. Daeron opened himself to Maglor completely. With a feverish passion, he needed to show and profess his love so that Maglor would never think that hecould give himself in this way to anyone else. No matter if it happened that he married the King's daughter, he would never again be able to make love such as he had this time.

He professed to Maglor that he was his alone, and that it did not matter how few times they would meet in the future. He had Maglor make love to him in every way possible, and then, passionately and completely, he did the same. He took Maglor orally, bodily, hands exploring every inch of stubborn Noldorin flesh. And finally, as Maglor knelt upon the soft cushion of cool moss on the riverbank, Daeron spent himself into the hard body of the Noldo as he lay across his back, arm stretched under Maglor, holding his hot, rigid flesh with a hand that never wanted to let go.

All sound ceased around them. The light grew static as the moment became a fixed point in time to which all energy was directed. The only sounds were the gasps and sighs of their voices as they whispered, "I love you."


	4. Leaving

Before daybreak the next morning, Maedhros and Fingon made their way silently to Maglor's tent through the dark camp. The soft sounds of sleeping Elves' breath was like the quiet rippling of the nearby lake. They were seeking privacy themselves before it became time to pack their belongings in preparation for the journey home.

Bending low, Maedhros flipped open the tent flap and crawled inside, followed closely by Fingon. But he stopped abruptly when he saw that Maglor and Daeron were sleeping together One of his brother's arms was wrapped around Daeron's waist, and Daeron's face was pressed into Maglor's hair.

Maedhros turned to Fingon and whispered, "Macalaurë and his Sindarin lover are in here. We cannot disturb them. We will have to come back later."

Fingon's face suddenly took on an expression of lascivious curiosity, although Maedhros could hardly see it in the moonlight. "No, let us go in! We can lie down and pretend to be sleeping!"

Maedhros looked shocked. "But why, love?" he asked.

"So that we can watch them if they awake and make love," Fingon replied. "Why do you think?" He could not suppress a leering laugh.

"I will do no such a thing to Macalaurë!" hissed Maedhros.

"Don't you want to see the Sinda in action?" asked Fingon. "I hear he is quite a little spitfire in bed."

Maedhros turned and pushed Fingon backwards out of the tent. He grabbed him by the collar of his cloak and dragged him out of earshot of Maglor. "Tell me where you heard this!" he cried, holding Fingon's face very close to his own. An angry light shone from his eyes. "I would not have my brother hear such slander."

"I was talking to the Sindarin warrior who accompanied Daeron here. Mablung," Fingon said firmly. "He tells me that our little minstrel is quite sought after in the Doriathren court. It seems that many Elves have been enchanted by his golden voice – both male and female – and by his pretty face. According to Mablung he has bedded quite a few of Elwë's nobles. Both male and female."

Maedhros let go of Fingon's collar and put his hand to his forehead. "What shall I do? I do not want Macalaurë to hear of this! Please promise me that you will not tell him, Findekáno. He is deeply in love with the little minstrel and I would not have him fall back into the melancholic condition he was in when we arrived. One of the many good things that has occurred here has been Macalaurë's falling in love with that Elf and his return to a somewhat normal level of happiness."

"Do not worry, my pet," Fingon replied warmly, placing a soothing touch on Maedhros's sleeve. "I shall not tell him. It is a good thing, perhaps, that we leave here today."

"Yes it is," Maedhros said grimly, rubbing his stump with his hand, "otherwise I may have had to give Mablung a good beating. But more importantly, if my brother will not be able to see his lover for many years, then there is slim chance that he will find out about Daeron's capriciousness." Fingon smiled and the two Elves slipped quietly in among the nearby dark trees so that they could spend some affectionate time together.

Later that afternoon, all of the participants and guests of the Mereth Aderthad had packed up their possessions. Some were preparing to leave, while others such as Fingolfin had already departed. Maglor and Daeron stood together forlornly beside Daeron's horse. Mablung sat astride his a few paces away, waiting for the two lovers to say their farewells. The morning was cool and crisp, and a breeze stirred Daeron's unbound hair, but Maglor's heavy dark braids remained as still as he.

Maglor, looking glum, stood stiff and unmoving. He was dressed entirely in black save for a pair of pale grey leggings, and the same soft grey colour was echoed in a trim of wolf's fur around the edges of his cloak. His face was paler than usual, an unearthly colour, strikingly terrifying in its whiteness. His lips were drawn and his hands were held inside his cloak so that he could hide their trembling.

Daeron was more relaxed, standing with one leg bent while he pack the last of his parchments into his saddlebag. He was taking all but one of the written songs home with him so that he could set them properly to music and then copy them out on new parchments. Maglor wanted to keep only one song. It was their first, "Hand in Hand." He said he wished to refine it at home and add some instrumentation to the finished piece.

"As I promised, I will bring the completed songs when we next meet," said Daeron, strapping up his bags. Then he turned to face Maglor and look him in the eyes.

"I want to come with you now," said Maglor in a voice as brittle with forlorn hope as the cold of a winter morning in Hithlum.

Daeron moved to stand next to Maglor. He placed his head upon the Noldo's chest, his arms entwined about Maglor's waist under the warm black cloak. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Maglor's heartbeat, and then began to hum an unusual tune.

"What are you doing?" Maglor asked in a soft whisper while stroking Daeron's hair.

"I am composing a new melody based on your unique body sounds," said Daeron. He sniffed and inhaled Maglor's essence. The scent made him think of cold granite and limestone cliffs and vast white-capped waters. "You make me think of the sea. I don't know why," he said, "but it will help me to compose the music for your song. You know that you cannot come with me," he said suddenly. "If King Thingol does not lift his ban on the Goldin as we hope he will do now that the Mereth Aderthad has been a success, then you and I shall have to wait and meet at our planned place and time. I will do everything in my power to be there as we agreed. If you do not see me there then wait for me, for I shall come."

"Yes," said Maglor, breathing only in short gasps, on the verge of collapsing into tears. "At Nan Elmoth where the River Celon passes on the northern edge of the forest. On the twenty-third of March, the Year of the Sun 22. Two long years from now."

Daeron nodded then and tried to speak but could not. He could only hug Maglor more tightly, his breath coming in short sobs, his face pressed to his lover's chest as Maglor's arms encircled him and held him close. Maglor's hands began to move frantically, caressing over Daeron's hair and down his back, tracing the outlines of his head, his face and his spine.

Finally, Maglor broke the embrace and kissed Daeron tenderly on the lips, as he had at their first tryst. Daeron stopped sobbing for a moment, returned the kiss and then resumed sobbing quietly. "I love you, my sweet heart," Maglor whispered tenderly.

"I love you more than anything," cried Daeron and he kissed Maglor again before turning away. Maglor suppressed an urge to cry out something ridiculous like "Don't go! Come with me!" But he said nothing as Daeron sprang lightly onto his horse. The two Elves' glances met and both gazes were full of longing. Then Daeron cast a determined look at Mablung and said, "We should be off". Then he and Mablung rode swiftly toward the southeast. Daeron looked back once after he had ridden about sixty yards and saw the tall, black-clad figure of Maglor still standing in the same spot, staring back at him.

After a few minutes, Maedhros rode up to Maglor with his brother's horse's reins in his one hand and said softly, "Come now, Macalaurë. Our men and Findekáno's men await us. We must hasten."

Maglor sighed, his breath a puff of wispy steam in the brisk air, and turned to mount his horse. He cast one more longing glance back to the two Sindarin Elves, now just two small figures on the plain below Ivrin, as they trotted toward the banks of the River Teiglin.

After they had traveled all day without speaking, Mablung and Daeron came to a halt at a wooded area beside the river to make camp for the night. They built a fire and cooked fish that Mablung caught. He asked Daeron to sing, as he thought it might improve the minstrel's spirits and Daeron agreed. He thought that if he could let out some of his emotion in a song, it might work to soothe the ache in his heart. He felt as if he were suffering from an open wound, so raw was his hurt when he thought of Maglor.

After they had retired to the tent that Mablung had pitched earlier, Daeron lay down fully clothed and covered himself with his blankets. But Mablung stripped off all of his clothes and stood naked before Daeron. The minstrel glanced up at him and asked, "What are you doing, Mablung?" His voice sounded fatigued.

"Do you not wish some comfort?" asked the warrior, and he knelt down beside Daeron, lifted the corner of the blankets and made to lie down.

"No! How can you think of doing this?" Daeron cried angrily, and he turned his back on his friend.

"I meant only to help you to feel better, thinking to take your mind away from your loss for tonight," said Mablung.

"I understand and I thank you for thinking to help me," said Daeron, "but what you suggest is wrong and it offends me. Think also of your professed love for your own companion, Beleg, back at home and waiting for you to return. I am sure that it would not sit well with him if you lay with me."

"I am not sure, actually, if Beleg would care," sighed Mablung. He moved to the opposite end of the tent where he tucked himself in under his own blankets.

"Is he not your lover?" asked Daeron, glad of the opportunity to talk about someone else.

"Sometimes," Mablung replied, "but I am unsure of his commitment."

"It is important to know," said Daeron. "If I had not found love here then I may have taken up your offer. But as it is…" he sighed as he spoke, "I have now committed myself to Maglor. Shall I sing a song to encourage you to sleep?"

"Yes, my friend, I would like that," the warrior replied, and he closed his eyes. Daeron then began to sing a gentle lullaby in a quiet, melodic voice. Soon the two Elves drifted off to sleep.

Maedhros and Maglor rode with Fingon as far as the foothills of the Ered Wethrin before stopping. "We shall leave you here," said Maedhros to his cousin, giving him a smile.

"Farewell, beloved cousin," called Fingon. He then turned his horse to follow his men toward a mountain pass that would lead them into Mithrim. The cousins all raised their hands in farewell, and Maedhros and Maglor trotted away due east, following the mountain range back through safe marches until they arrived at Maedhros' home in Himlad.

"We have far to go," remarked Maedhros. "We shall not be home for months."

"I do not mind," said Maglor. "A visit with some of our other cousins as we pass through their realms may help to take my thoughts away from he whom I have lost." He sighed heavily.

Maedhros sighed too, at the thought that his brother's melancholy may have returned.


	5. A House Is Not A Home

The year 22 was a time of peace for the Noldor and other Elves of Beleriand. While their leaguers kept Morgoth at bay, it was with a heart full of joyful anticipation that Maglor set out upon his fast steed with a contingent of soldiers from his ward. No worries of attack clouded their thoughts. They rode toward the meeting place that Maglor had arranged with Daeron during the glorious days of Mereth Aderthad.

Maglor's men followed him along the Greater River Gelion until they came to Little Gelion, where they left him to travel the rest of the distance on his own. It was winter, the ides of February, but the cold weather did not bother Maglor. He was heated with an inner fire. Daeron's face remained etched, unforgotten, in his memory. Although it took more than a month for him to reach the eastern edge of the forest of Nan Elmoth, the time passed quickly for him. He concerned himself with the daily travails of the traveler, trying to ride at least 60 miles a day, building a campfire, pitching a tent and hunting or fishing for food. Water was plentiful from the river and small lakes in the area.

Finally, on the bright morning of March 20th of the First Age 22, Maglor arrived at the appointed place, galloping toward the forest with his heart pounding in his chest at the first sight of Nan Elmoth's tall trees. He rode along the eastern edge of the forest until he reached the River Celon, then turned and rode back the way he had come. He kept this up for three days, riding along the eastern edge of the forest, looking for Daeron.

The weather had turned from winter into spring. Maglor watched as songbirds chased each other through the skies in random patterns as they mated, delighting in their lust, oblivious to possible danger. Light rains washed away the vestiges of snow that lay in the shady hollows in the fields. Tips of green poked through the reviving grass as tiny spring bulbs began to sprout their slender leaves. It was a glorious place to be, but Maglor paced in fevered hope and dread that Daeron would not come.

But on the afternoon of March 23rd, Maglor sat on a log at the edge of the Celon, drawing patterns with his bare toes in the sand, watching as the water lapped against his feet and washed away his pictures. He had disrobed to his under-leggings and laid his sword down nearby, and was considering whether or not to take a swim in the cold water when he heard the sound of hooves faintly, from far away. Quickly he jumped to his feet. His heart was racing as he peered into the distance across the river to the northwest. He picked up his sword, though he did not think that this rider would be an enemy, riding alone as he was.

Gradually he adjusted his vision and waited until the figure came closer. It was unmistakably a lone rider on horseback and an Elf by the sound of the hooves pounding assuredly and swiftly into the ground. The horse bore a light weight upon its back. As the figure drew closer, Maglor could see that it was an Elf. His heart lurched and his eyes began to fill with tears of joy. He could see familiar light-brown hair billowing out behind the rider, although it was much longer than Maglor remembered. Still, he knew it was Daeron, though he could not yet see his face. He dropped his sword and plunged into the river, swimming to the other side as fast as he could.

The water was cold, and he could not move as quickly as he would have liked, but he swam with powerful, relentless strokes. The rider reached the far bank while Maglor was only halfway across. Daeron urged his horse on, into the river. When he reached Maglor he flung himself off of the horse and splashed into the icy-cold water, crying out in delight and from the cold that rose up around him. Maglor, treading water, grasped Daeron around the waist and pulled him to his chest, burying his face in his lover's shoulder and bursting into tears of joy.

Daeron, laughing delightedly, managed to gasp, "Come, let us get out of this frigid water," though it was difficult to speak as Maglor kept trying to kiss him. Finally the two emerged from the river soaked and shivering but Maglor, with both of his arms still around Daeron, lifted him up into the air.

"Let me look at you!" he cried. "Your hair has grown longer!" Daeron still wore his hair unbound except for two thin braids at each side that were pulled back behind his head and tied with a black ribbon. At the Pools of Ivrin his hair had been chest-length but now it fell to his waist sleek and straight. His hazel eyes still shone brightly. He was a little sturdier than before, and not as thin.

"Have you become a warrior?" Maglor asked incredulously as he felt the strength in Daeron's arm. "You have developed some fine muscles."

Daeron laughed. "Yes, I have learned to use a sword," he said. "Mablung and Beleg have taught me well. Come and I will take you to the house that Beleg has given us to use."

"My horse and my gear, not to mention my weapons, are on the other side of the river," protested Maglor. "I shall have to cross back over to get them."

"Let us both ride across on my horse," suggested Daeron, "lest we both wear ourselves down by swimming. I would like you to retain all of your strength for when we are together in Beleg's cabin." And he laughed, the sound a delight to Maglor's ears, starved as they had been for two years for Daeron's beautiful voice.

Daeron called to his horse and both Elves leapt onto its back, Maglor assuming the position behind Daeron. He boldly pressed himself into the younger Elf, delighting in the sensation of the familiar yet long-missed warmth and welcome feel of Daeron's body. He sighed, his own body quivering with delight, and clasped Daeron around the chest. His hands caressed the now hard muscles and his head bent over Daeron's shoulder, pressing kisses into his neck.

"Ai, Maglor, you will have me undone if you keep doing that!" cried Daeron, pushing himself back against Maglor's yearning flesh. He urged his horse on through the water and when they reached the opposite bank, Maglor jumped down first and pulled Daeron down onto the sand. "No, Maglor!" Daeron cried. "I want our first time after so long to be in the cabin! I have set it up so beautifully for you!"

"I want you now," growled Maglor. The hardness of his arousal was evident as it strained against his thin, wet leggings.

"Ai! How can I resist you, big Goldion prince that you are?" cried Daeron. He sat up, pulling quickly at his clothing.

Maglor wanted to pounce upon the object of his desire, but instead he slowly lowered himself to his knees. He reached out to touch the Sinda's chest, feeling the once soft but now hard and well-defined muscle. He sighed and lowered his head to kiss Daeron, pushing his tongue between his lover's teeth so that he could explore the depths of the warm mouth. Silently, without a word, the two Elves made love, becoming familiar once again with each other's bodies and enjoying the exquisite feeling of being together at last. Afterward, they expressed their love again many times, lying in the sand, stroking hair and faces, wrapped together in each other's arms as furled leaf and flower, two separate entities yet one whole being. Then, feeling the cold, they got up, packed Maglor's things, and rode toward Beleg's cabin.

King Thingol had given Beleg some lands in the north of Doriath as befitted the warrior's station as a well-respected and important captain of the guard. These lands on the north marches were in a hilly part of the country, with deep valleys full of grey mist and rolling dark green hills covered in mossy forests of pine, birch and cedars. They looked northward over the darkly shadowed valley of Nan Dungortheb toward the mountain peaks of Ered Gorgoroth.

Beleg's house, much like Beleg himself, was strong and sturdy. It was built out of pine logs and partially embedded in the south side of a hill. That hid it from any enemy who potentially could approach it from over the mountains. Surrounding the house were many trees in which other Elves of the guard lived on talans, high among the branches where they were carefully hidden from the view of any approaching stranger. Daeron whistled a signal as they neared the trees to let his friends know they had arrived. All of the guards had agreed to keep it a secret that Daeron was bringing one of the Goldin and Fëanor's son at that, into Doriath. They had all agreed that Thingol and Melian must not find out.

The exterior of Beleg's house was of polished pine logs fitted impeccably together to form a rectangular building with two chimneys, one at either end, arising from the sloping tile roof. The red clay tiles were fashioned from the earth of the surrounding valley. From this soil sprung a myriad of roses, which grew well in the climate and area. The dormant vines of dark red climbing roses sprawled over the house itself and clung to the front porch posts, and later on in late spring their seductive aroma would linger long in the senses as one stepped over the threshold and entered the house.

Upon first stepping inside Daeron and Maglor came into a great room whose polished wood floors were covered in the soft, luxurious furs of wolves and bears. Upon the rough-paneled walls were mounted swords, spears, knives and the various bows that Beleg had used in the many battles he had fought and won in Beleriand. At one end of the great room was a magnificent fireplace, walled in the rich granite stone found in the area. Its wide hearth was of polished black marble, which created a warm place where Beleg could sit and talk with his many friends. On either side of the hearth were great black andirons, made by the King's smiths and presented to Beleg as a gift for the many years of service.

Suspended from the great stone fireplace wall above the mantel was a large portrait painted of Beleg by Thingol's chief portrait artist. Though it depicted him in full military regalia, the artist had caught the soft beauty of Beleg's character, in sharp contrast to his strong, powerful physique as it appeared in armour. Underneath that armour was a lithe and slim yet powerful body that had withstood many battles to remain unscathed. His kind green-grey gaze shone down benevolently upon viewers of his likeness and all who gazed upon it took note of the beauty of his eyes and the radiant gleam of his long and sleek black hair, which flowed free and unbound in the portrait and gave him a soft, young appearance.

Situated in front of the fireplace was a small grouping of chairs fashioned out of the ubiquitous pine wood of his house, but covered with soft cushions and furs for comfortable seating. There were several low tables for refreshments scattered, yet they looked as if they had never been used. There were no marks upon them; in fact, the only blemish on their highly polished surfaces was a fine coating of dust. Many cabinets of various sizes lined the room's perimeter, full of pottery and artifacts from Menegroth given to Beleg as gifts from the many people who loved and respected him. Placed on top of the cabinets were huge candle holders of black wrought iron in which sat candles ready to be lit once the room was occupied. Beleg was rarely home, however, and the loneliness of his house was palpable.

At the opposite end of the room was the door to Beleg's bedroom. Daeron turned its cold metal handle and entered. At the far end of that room was another fireplace which kept the room warm for sleeping. The bed was situated high up on a platform and was covered in soft white furs. There were eight black marble steps leading up to the top of the slab. Beleg thought that, in case the house was someday discovered and attacked by Orcs, having the bed so high would allow him to leap upon them from atop his platform before they had a chance to climb the steps. On his headboard was mounted a greatsword for the purpose of defence in the eventuality of an attack.

The bedroom was sparsely decorated, with only a ewer and basin sitting forlornly upon a small pine stand with empty rungs for towels. A creaking door on the wardrobe cabinet swung open noisily, and from its upper corner hung a fuzzy strand of cobweb that swayed back and forth as the cabinet door blew open and closed. Daeron bent down to start a small fire in the grate as Maglor, impressed by the simple magnificence of this house that Daeron had called a cabin, looked around in delight.


	6. A Chill Begins

"Ahhh---Maglor," Daeron crooned.  He lay in bed with one arm flung over the white fur that covered him, and Maglor lay beneath the blankets, doing delicious things to Daeron's nether regions.  The morning air was bitter cold, the fire having died out in the grate during the night.  The two Elves had not noticed it in the heated passion of their lovemaking.  They awoke together, after a night of strenuous activity, beneath the furs on Beleg's bed where they had resumed their joyful reuniting after the greeting by the river.  
Maglor could not fill himself enough with Daeron, and almost devoured the fair minstrel as he loved him hard and long.  Daeron's new physique had made him stronger and more limber, and Maglor was aroused by his new vigour.  The more that Daeron fought and pushed back against Maglor in feigned reluctance to have his defences breached, the more this activity excited Maglor so that the Noldorin warrior was encouraged to demand more attention and energy from his Sindarin lover.  
"Gods---Maglor," Daeron whimpered as the Noldo's insatiable mouth enveloped him fully and exploring fingers penetrated him eagerly.  He clutched handfuls of silky black hair as he writhed beneath Maglor's expert mouth and intimate touches.  By the time Maglor was sated, the two Elves had each climaxed what Daeron thought must be a dozen times.  They lay back on Beleg's bed, which was now divested of fur coverings that had been kicked to the floor during their wild, abandoned lovemaking.  Both Elves were covered in perspiration that cooled their bodies as it evaporated.  
Daeron sighed deeply.  "I must get up now and build a fire, lest we freeze to death in this changeable spring climate.  It does not know whether it wants to be warm or cold these past few mornings."  He crossed to the fireplace and bent down to stoke the fire and determine if there was any life left in it, and narrowly evaded a sudden shower of sparks.  He laughed.  "Now I understand the warrior's rule of the campfire," he remarked.  
"What is that?" asked Maglor, busy combing his hair with a brush that he had found in the nightstand, one of Beleg's furs wrapped around his body.  
"Never stand naked before the flames," Daeron said.  He stirred the ash and glowing bits of log with a poker.  
Maglor laughed. "Come back to bed," he said, staring hard at Daeron's bare backside.  
"You cannot be serious," said Daeron.  "I am chafed and sore.  At least allow me four hours or so to heal."  
"Let me see," said Maglor.  Daeron obliged by turning around.  "Ah," said Maglor, wincing.  "It is quite red, isn't it?  I am sorry, love.  I have been quite insatiable.  Why don't you come lie down and let me rub on some oil for you?"  
Daeron laughed.  "Oh no.  I shall not fall for another of your tricks, you crafty Goldion villain."  
"Fine.  At least let me rub some on your delicious bottom."  
"I think I'll just get dressed," said Daeron.  "What would you like to do today?" He noticed the wide grin on Maglor's face and said, "Never mind.  I shall think of something."  He looked all over the room for his clothes and found his leggings that had been flung on top of the cupboard.  "Ouch," he whimpered as he pulled them on.  "They're too tight.  They will chafe something terrible."  
"I do like you in tight clothing," remarked Maglor.  Daeron ignored him and opened Beleg's cupboard.  
"I wonder if I could borrow something of Beleg's," he mused.  "He is much bigger than I; therefore, his trousers should fit more loosely than mine.  Ah – I have found something," and he pulled out a pair of forest green doeskin leggings with a satin lining.  He found a matching jerkin, also satin-lined, and an unbleached linen shirt to wear underneath.  "These should be very comfortable," he said.  
"Is Beleg the fellow in the painting over the fireplace in the other room?" asked Maglor.  
"Yes, that is he," replied Daeron.  "Impressive-looking, isn't he?"  
"Mmm---not bad," replied Maglor, "but I think you are much more beautiful."  
"You flatter me shamelessly, devious warrior," said Daeron, strapping on Beleg's tunic and pulling the belt tight around his narrow waist.  "There.  How do I look?"  
"Gods!  That colour suits you.  You are beautiful," Maglor said.  "Come here so I can brush your hair."  
Daeron approached the bed.  "No funny business," he said and sat down.  
Maglor laughed.  "You don't trust me.  I will prove that I am good to my word.  I shall brush your hair while you sit here and not touch any other part of you."  
Daeron smiled and tossed his waist-length hair behind his back.  "Very well, then.  Show me how trustworthy you are."  
Maglor started to brush the long brown locks.  He pulled the brush through Daeron's hair slowly at first so as not to snag any tangles and as he eased them out, he brushed more vigorously until Daeron's hair shone like a bolt of satin.  Then he dropped the brush and seized Daeron around the chest and pulled him backward against his naked torso.  Daeron struggled free of Maglor's strong arms.  "You lose, my untrustworthy prince!" he cried.  "Your word is not good!" Both Elves laughed and then Maglor leapt out of bed.  
"I suppose I should get dressed," he said.  "Is there a spring or anything nearby where we could wash ourselves?  That might help to heal the chafing somewhat.  I have it too."  
"Yes, there is a warm spring not far from here.  We shall have to walk through the forest to get there.  It would be a nice hike if we go on foot.  It should take us four to five hours."  
"That sounds perfect," said Maglor.  
As soon as Maglor had dressed, the two Elves set out through the eastern edge of Doriath.  The air had warmed, and there was no wind among the trees as they walked.  Maglor admired the great forest as they passed beneath its boughs.  The trees in this place were tall and had canopies of dense, dark-leafed branches that intertwined and wove a high ceiling far above their heads.  The pathways were smooth and clear, the spaces between the trees wide so that they could see a fair distance ahead.  Many shade-loving spring bulbs with white flowers grew in swaths beneath the shrubbery and across the pathways, sending a light fragrance into the air.  There were many birds hiding among the trees, but their trilling voices could be heard as the Elves walked along the trails. The two minstrels began to sing, mimicking the trills and chirps of the birds while devising a melody to incorporate the natural forest sounds into the song.  
Presently, strolling and singing as they walked, they could hear the high lilting tones of a maiden's voice in response to their tune.  Daeron stopped.  "Listen!" he said.  
"Who is that?" asked Maglor.  
"It is Lúthien," cried Daeron.  "But this is wonderful!  I will be able to introduce her to you.  Wait until you see her, Maglor.  She is the most beautiful creature that Eru has ever created."  
"So you have said before," said Maglor, a little disgruntled. "Now my curiosity is piqued.  Let us find your Lúthien, then."  The two Elves became silent and followed the sounds of the maiden's voice.  Soon they came across her as she was dancing and singing in a glade.  They stopped a while to watch her.  
Maglor thought that she was exquisitely beautiful, just as Daeron had said.  She was tiny, with pale ivory skin and hair as black as Maglor's, or perhaps even darker.  Her figure appeared slight and graceful as she danced, and she was dressed in a silvery-blue gown with a trim of white lace on her flowing sleeves.  The sun's rays managed to poke through the canopy of the tree branches above and shone down upon her, making her look even more luminous.  Her voice was beautiful too.  Both Elves stood transfixed by her singing as they stood and watched and listened to her, until her dance turned her toward them and she stopped, startled by their silent presence.  
"Daeron!" she cried, and smiled happily to see him.  Her smile was radiant and Maglor was staggered by its beauty.  Daeron rushed forward to embrace her and as he did so, he lifted her up off the ground and hugged her tightly.  
Maglor watched them, an uncomfortable feeling growing in his belly as he detected a strong closeness between them.  He knew they had known each other for many years, but there was something about Lúthien that made him feel uneasy.  
Daeron let her down and, pulling her by the hand, led her to where Maglor stood.  She looked at Maglor curiously.  
"Lúthien, please meet my dear friend," Daeron said with a beaming smile.  Lúthien scrutinized Maglor with interest.  
"I am pleased to meet you, my Lady," he said.  "My name is Maglor."  
"Good day, sir," she said.  "Maglor?  That is an unusual name."  
My real name is "Macalaurë Canafinwë, my Lady," he replied.  "In your language it is 'Maglor'."  
"Indeed; you must tell me all about yourself," she said, smiling up at him.  Her gaze took in his height, build and his black hair.  
Maglor was instantly attracted to her beauty and her charm.  Daeron explained to Lúthien that they were headed for the hot springs, and she said that she would walk with them until they reached their destination and then head home toward Menegroth.  The three of them walked on together, and Maglor told Lúthien quite a bit about himself despite the fact that he did not trust her.  
                                                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Maglor stayed with Daeron for a year before going home.  There followed years of peace, during which Maglor came to visit Daeron many times.  They were always welcome to use Beleg's cabin, and at times when Beleg was home, they would have good times with him and his frequent companion Mablung, and sometimes Lúthien would join them for an evening of singing, dancing and story-telling.  
But around Year 50, things began to change.  Morgoth tested the might of the Noldor, sending Orcs out across Ard-galen and causing earthquakes and volcanoes to unsettle the land.  Maglor's lands were attacked.  During this time, and and for a long time thereafter, Maglor was unable to keep his predetermined appointments with Daeron.  
On the first occasion in Year 49, after Maglor had stayed another year on the edge of Doriath, he and Daeron parted again with the promise that he would return in spring two years hence.  When this time finally arrived, Daeron set out from Menegroth and rode to the place by the river that they had always used as their meeting spot since that first year. Daeron rode up to the riverbank as usual, expecting to see Maglor's tent and his familiar dark-haired prince sitting by the river.  But he saw no one.  The area was empty.  Forcing down an uneasy feeling, Daeron waited, hoping that Maglor had just left late, or was held up by inclement weather in the north.  He waited until night came, and then he rode to Beleg's cabin.  The next day he rose early and went back to the River Celon.   Maglor did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next day after that.  Daeron stood long by the river, looking northwards.  "Oh, my untrustworthy prince," he said, weeping, "Your word is not good."  
Feeling great sorrow and fear, and not knowing what had become of his lover, Daeron returned to Menegroth, where he spent the next 105 years in the agony of mourning for his lost love.


	7. A Tenuous Hold

In the year 150, during the long siege of Angband, Maglor perceived that things had settled in the north into an uneasy sort of peace. He spoke to Maedhros about his feelings of restlessness and unease that he had left Daeron for too long without knowledge of his safety and whereabouts. The brothers stood together in a cold stone room of Maedhros' fortress. The sound of water could be heard dripping onto the floor somewhere nearby, no doubt coming from a fissure in the wall. Many cracks had appeared over the years when Morgoth created the earthquakes and volcanoes to rock the land.

"Have you not forgotten him by now?" Maedhros asked his brother rudely. He was feeling edgy, kept too busy and going many nights without sleep as he planned and strategized with Fingon on how best to hold Morgoth's armies at bay.

"No, I have not forgotten him!" Maglor shouted. "I am shocked and affronted by that question, Maitimo! How would you feel if you were in my place and Findekáno in Daeron's, and you had not seen each other for more than one hundred years? Would your love diminish, or would you believe that because he is your one true soulmate your love could last conceivably forever without sight or knowledge of each other?"

Maedhros then looked chagrined as he gazed at his brother in shame. "I am sorry I spoke so cruelly," he said. "But at this moment I am worried about the enemy's plans. There has not been much news from our scouts lately, but I sense that something is afoot in the north, and Findekáno has gone back to Hithlum. I worry for him as he travels on that journey. I advise you to wait a while, and if nothing happens within the next few months, then you can go."

It turned out that Maedhros was right to wait. Morgoth became active once again, and sent a host of Orcs to retrace the trails that Fingolfin had used when he came from the Helcaraxë, in an attempt to attack and occupy Hithlum. Fingon, however, had discovered the impending attack as he was returning to his home and with his own army he attacked Morgoth's forces with ferocious strength before they had reached his father's stronghold. He drove them westward to the sea, forcing them over the cliffs where they perished in the cold waters off Lammoth.

After that, Maedhros was shaken by the realization that Fingon could have been killed if the battle had turned against him. There had been no time to call other forces to his aid, and he and his men had fought the Orcs alone. That realization caused Maedhros to summon Maglor and tell him to go to Doriath and seek Daeron once again.

"You may go now while things are quiet here, or you may wait to be sure that our homes will be free from harm before you go, but I would advise you now to go and seek him, if you truly believe that to be with him is your destiny. I will tell you this, brother, that if I had lost Findekáno in his latest battle, I know not how I would face the remaining years left to me, no matter how many or how few. Go, brother, stay long, and I hope to see you again in a few years' time."

Now, on his first visit back to Doriath after one hundred and five years, Maglor came into the forested realm as if it were a new discovery to him. He found the River Celon, although the shape of the lands surrounding it had changed. There was much new growth of trees, and the river had grown wider and deeper, and Maglor had trouble finding Beleg's cabin. It had become overgrown with vines and overshadowed by the ever-growing trees of Doriath. Had he not been spotted by the wardens on the outskirts of the forest, he may not have found it.

"Hail, stranger." Maglor heard the voice of the warden before he saw him, and this Elf dropped suddenly from a talan to land in front of Maglor on the path. "Where are you headed?"

Maglor stared hard at the warrior standing before him. "Mablung?" he asked, pleased to see his old friend.

"Stars preserve us! You cannot be Maglor Fëanorion!" cried Mablung, peering at the tall, dark Elf with the severe countenance who stood before him. The two then broke into huge grins and embraced each other warmly.

"How long has it been since you were last here?" asked Mablung, tears of joy in his eyes.

"Too long," said Maglor. "Tell me of Daeron. How does he fare since my last visit?" Maglor was almost breathless with impatience to see his lover.

"He is well," replied Mablung. "Very well. He rarely ventures outside of the court these days, however. He has been occupying himself mostly with his songwriting and singing. I must tell you, Maglor that he has composed some of the best music that I have heard during these past years. You must ask him to sing and play for you."

Maglor was almost overcome with longing to see his lover once again, and clutched at his sword-hilt with white knuckles while shifting his weight from foot to foot as they talked. "Please, Mablung, would you do an old friend a great service and go to fetch him here? If it is all right with you, I shall await him in Beleg's cabin. And how is Beleg? Is he within?" Maglor spoke rapidly in his anxiety.

"I shall be pleased to fetch Daeron for you," replied Mablung. "And Beleg is well. He is here. He has not been traveling abroad as much these days, and he may be at home as we speak. Come. Let us go to the cabin and see." Mablung led an anxious Maglor back towards Beleg's house.

Beleg was indeed home, and he welcomed Maglor inside. The two warriors talked of various battles they each had fought and compared different defence strategies while Mablung sought out Daeron. When he reached Thingol's halls, Mablung found Daeron in the company of Lúthien. They sat in the great hall, Daeron with a harp upon his lap, and Lúthien listened intently to a sweet song that he sang and played for her. Both he and she appeared enraptured by each other, and Mablung felt a measure of sorrow for Maglor. It seemed Daeron had put that old relationship with the Goldin prince behind him and had embarked on a new one with Lúthien. Daeron had spent many hours in Mablung's company, lamenting the perceived loss of Maglor. He had been heartbroken for years and Mablung had soothed him back to a normal emotional state, and Lúthien had certainly helped also, giving him her friendship when he needed it most. Mablung took a deep breath, approached the two, and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said quietly. Daeron and Lúthien both turned their heads toward him. Lúthien's expression was one of affectionate amusement, but Daeron looked almost dazed by her beauty. "My lady Lúthien, it is a pleasure to see you on such a lovely day," said Mablung. "Please excuse my interruption of your meeting. But friend Daeron, may I please speak with you a moment?" Daeron's expression changed to one of curiosity. He put down his harp, stood, and reached down to pick up Lúthien's hand to place a kiss. Then he walked swiftly toward Mablung.

"What is it, my friend?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity and his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"Are you able to come with me now to Beleg's cabin?" Mablung asked softly but with an urgent tone in his voice. "I will explain on the way why I ask this of you now."

The tone of Mablung's voice, which was one of breathless urgency, made Daeron's stomach lurch. A feeling of dread had arisen in his gut. "What is it? Is it something terrible?" he asked. "Why do you speak with such urgency?"

"No, it is good news I bring, not bad, I promise you," Mablung replied. "Please come, Daeron. Come. Be quick. I shall tell you what it is when we are out of earshot of the King's halls. We shall go to the stables for horses, and ride fast to the cabin."

After the two had saddled their horses, Mablung suggested that they ride only for a few miles before dismounting so that he could explain before they reached their destination why he had rushed Daeron away from Lúthien. After galloping through the thick forest on dark paths, and when they had stopped and were standing on the roadway, Mablung took Daeron's hands in his. "I have news for you," he said, while Daeron's eyes grew wide with trepidation. "I have news of an old friend."

This meant only one thing to Daeron. "Is it Maglor?" he asked, his throat becoming dry and his voice faltering. "Is he – is he harmed? Is he alive?"

Mablung laughed and enveloped Daeron in a hug. "Oh, Daeron, do not look so worried!" He laughed, and then released him. "He is here," he said.

Daeron, startled, took a step back. His knees grew weak, almost making him stumble as he clutched at his horse's dangling reins. "Here?" he asked in wonder.

"Yes. He waits for you in Beleg's cabin," said Mablung. "Do you not wish to see him?"

Daeron was stunned and could only stand still a few minutes. Then a look of distress crossed his face and he covered it with his hands and began to sob. "Where has he been?" he cried when he could speak. "Why has he waited so long to come?"

Mablung took him by the hand. "Come," he said softly. "You can ask him that question yourself when you see him." He helped Daeron to climb back up onto his mount.

The two Elves galloped on toward the forest's edge. When they finally reached the cabin at daylight's end, Mablung said, "Please tell Beleg to come outside, and we will leave you and Maglor alone for the rest of the night. He and I can stay on my talan."

"I would advise you to stay here," said Daeron, wiping tears away from his face as he stood before the house. "It may be that I shall be coming right back out again."

Mablung smiled at that statement. "We shall see," he said. "Go now, and reacquaint yourself with your prince."

Daeron slowly climbed the steps and knocked hesitantly on the front door. Presently, Beleg came out, grinned at Daeron, and joined Mablung on the path. Daeron stepped into the cabin.

The sight that greeted him was the back of Maglor's head as he sat upon the sofa before the fire. The room was warm from a new fire raging in the grate. Light from Beleg's few candles lit the room, but there were long shadows cast in the early evening as the sky became dark. Little of the remaining sunlight came in through the windows. Daeron stood just inside the door and stared at the back of the once-familiar head. Maglor's hair was the shade of black shot with red highlights that Daeron remembered stroking with loving hands. It was braided into one long plait down his back. Daeron could not see how long his hair had grown, as the end of the plait was hidden. Tears began again to stream down Daeron's face; he could not control his emotions as he took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Maglor?" he asked plaintively, his musical voice breaking upon the name. The Noldo stood up slowly and turned to look at Daeron. He was tall, very tall. Daeron had forgotten how tall he was. He looked well. He was heavily muscled now, possessing a true soldier's body. Daeron could not see his face clearly for his own tears and the shadows in the room, and over the distance between them. He raised trembling hands to his face and hastily tried to wipe his eyes to better see Maglor. Then the tall Noldo came from behind the sofa and moved swiftly toward him.

When Maglor came to a stop before him, Daeron looked up and stared long into his beloved's face. It was as familiar to him as if the last time he had seen him had been yesterday, and yet seeing it anew like this after so many years, Daeron could appreciate the Noldo's beauty even more. Maglor's dark grey eyes flashed at Daeron with a look of intense affection and longing. His lips twitched as if he did not know what to say. His expression was one of profound loss and sorrow, but mixed with joy as well. He raised a hand and placed it tenderly against Daeron's cheek, and brushed away the wet drops that clung to his soft, smooth skin. Then he spoke in a familiar deep baritone voice; it was like dark velvet, Daeron thought.

"My beautiful Daeron," he whispered. "How I have longed to see your face again." He smiled joyfully. "Please do not tell me that you are angry with me and hate me for not keeping our last appointment."

Daeron's expression immediately changed to one of anger. He launched himself at Maglor's chest, peppering it with punches before clutching at Maglor's heavy robes. "Yes, I am angry!" he screamed and cursed. "You know not what you did to me, you damned lying, treacherous villain! I knew not whether you were dead or maimed, nor the reason why you would let me wait in agony for more than a hundred years wondering what had become of you!"

Maglor let Daeron rage on for several minutes before he clasped the Sinda's two arms in his strong hands and pulled him close. The minstrel's blows had not hurt Maglor in the least, and he had welcomed the onslaught, feeling that he deserved it for having betrayed his lover's trust. He clasped his hands around Daeron's slender back.

"Daeron," he whispered, his eyes veiled by his dark lashes as he gazed intently at the smaller Elf. "I never stopped loving you all these long years. I wanted to come yet could not, and I hoped every day that you still loved me."

Daeron whimpered and reached up with a shaking hand to stroke Maglor's wide, unlined forehead. "Yes, you stupid Elf. Yes, I do still love you." His voice was choked by sobs.

Maglor leaned down and kissed Daeron passionately on the mouth, letting his senses be filled again with the familiar scent and feel of his beautiful Sindarin minstrel.

The sensuous kiss had lasted several minutes, and Maglor became greatly aroused. He nibbled Daeron's ear and growled, "Come to bed with me now." His tone was urgent, desperate and needy.

"No," said Daeron.

"You have never said 'no' to me before," whispered Maglor with breath like hot wisps of steam against Daeron's sensitive lobe, causing his arousal to rage with desire. Maglor's hand slid swiftly down Daeron's stomach to lie against the hard bulge in his trousers, and he rubbed this with needy, exploring fingers. Daeron unsuccessfully tried to stifle a moan.

"N-n-nooo---Maglor----," he whispered.

"Come to bed," Maglor hissed while he fervently massaged the desirable appendage that he longed to possess with his mouth.

"You hurt me," whispered Daeron.

"I will make it better," Maglor replied. He licked the front of Daeron's neck, pausing over his larynx where he relished the vibrations coming from that most beautiful of voices. His one hand held Daeron to him by the small of his back, while the other began to undo the minstrel's clothing.

"Ai – no – Maglor – I am not ready," he cried.

Maglor dropped to his knees and swiftly untied the front of Daeron's trousers to release his hard arousal. "You look ready to me," he said before he took the evidence into his greedy mouth.

Daeron gasped and supported himself by putting his hands on Maglor's shoulders. He shuddered violently under Maglor's caresses and unsuccessfully tried to bite back a series of moans. Then Maglor grasped him around the knees and lifted him up, letting the top half of Daeron's body drape over his back. Carrying him into Beleg's bedroom, Maglor ascended the steps to the bed and set him down.

"Maglor, I told you no!" cried Daeron. Maglor sat beside him to undo his clothing. "Stop!" cried Daeron, but he lay lax and allowed Maglor to pull off everything he wore. When he was naked and trembling atop the bed, Daeron said, "I am not going to make love to you, nor let you do the same to me."

Maglor let his lascivious gaze wander over all of Daeron's body. "Gods, I had forgotten how beautiful you are," he said. My body burns as I yearn to master yours once again." He stood and began to undress, first removing his outer robe to reveal his splendid warrior's form in a plain but elegantly tailored shirt with red sash worn over tight black leggings and high leather boots. He removed the shirt and sash.

"I am not going to look at you," said Daeron, his chest heaving with desire. He watched closely as Maglor kicked off his boots and lowered his leggings. He stifled a gasp as he noted the changes in Maglor's physique. The Noldo was heavily muscled now, powerfully built, and had battle scars not yet faded on his otherwise smooth skin. Daeron reached out to touch them.

"You have suffered many wounds," he said in a sad voice.

Maglor sighed. "Now do you see why I could not come to you, even though I desired it more than anything in life? I needed to be there in Lothlann, helping to protect those lands, and ultimately yours, from Morgoth's assaults. I have my own army to maintain. This was indeed the first opportunity for me to get away. But now we may have several more years of peace. I shall be able to stay with you a long time."

"Oh my love," Daeron sighed. "I am sorry to have doubted you." He put his arms around Maglor's chest and pulled himself up to press against him. "But it was agony to be separated from you for so long." He kissed the top of Maglor's shoulder.

"Let us enjoy all the time we have together," Maglor said gravely, "because once I go back, it may be many years again before I will be able to return. But promise that you will always wait for me." He turned to gaze into Daeron's eyes as he stroked the side of his lover's face.

"I will always wait for you," sighed Daeron, and he reached up to claim Maglor's lips in a passionate kiss.


	8. Bragollach

Maglor was able to see Daeron only seldomly over the ensuing years. But this was not enough for Daeron, whose feelings for Lúthien grew greater and his love for Maglor, while it did not diminish, became tinged with sadness. A sense of doom overshadowed it. Each time Maglor came, he told of something new and dreadful that had befallen the Noldor.

Morgoth continued his attacks, wishing foremost to destroy Fingolfin. Knowing that he could not defeat the High King or his strong and valiant son Fingon, Morgoth bred a new and terrible creature: the dragon. Of these beasts the most terrible was Glaurung who while still young was eager to try his strength against that of the High King and the Noldorin princes. In the year 250, Glaurung attacked Fingon's army. But Fingon, using archers mounted on swift horses, managed to assault the young dragon and force him to flee back to Angband. Fingon was held in great esteem for that feat, but Maedhros and Maglor were shaken by Morgoth's relentless assaults with new and ever more dreadful creatures, and they met to discuss their continuing strategies.

"Gods," Maglor said to his brother. He held a silver goblet of wine as they sat together in Maedhros' great hall. "Have you ever thought ahead to what you would do if your reckless Findekáno were ever killed while performing one of his heroic stunts?" He raised the goblet to his lips and quickly downed the contents.

Maedhros ran a hand through his mass of crimson hair. His arched brows came together above his fine nose in a frown that creased his pale face. "I have thought on it, yes," he said, his voice dry and cracking. Maglor rose from the sofa and crossed to a table that held bottles of wine and several goblets. He poured two and took one to his brother. Then he returned to his sofa and sat down, slouching with one long leg draped over a sofa arm.

"I know not what I would do. Go mad, I should think," said Maedhros. He, also, gulped down the entire contents of his goblet.

"Do you ever consider giving up this foolish thing that we have done?" asked Maglor.

"What would that particular foolish thing be, my brother?" asked Maedhros.

"The Oath," said Maglor. "If it is rescinded, then we can live more peaceful lives, surely."

"And what of Moringotho? It is too late for peace," Maedhros replied. "He will keep up his attacks on us. Now we are bound to keep him held at bay and protect these lands and all of our people within."

"I know that," said Maglor. "Sometimes I just wish ---." His voice trailed off and he took another sip of wine.

"I know what you wish," said Maedhros. "How long has it been since you have seen him?"

"More than fifty years now," Maglor replied with a deep sigh.

"Go to him then," said Maedhros softly. "We should have some peace for a time and we can do without you here. If there is need, I will send a messenger."

Maglor hastened to Doriath once again and enjoyed a visit of ten years' stay with Daeron. They lay in Beleg's bed on the last morning before Maglor was to leave, Daeron's head on Maglor's shoulder and Maglor's arms enveloping Daeron, one hand stroking his chest. Daeron's emotions were conflicted. He loved Maglor dearly but could not envision a life for them together. He felt that he was suffocating under the constant fear that Maglor may die in battle somewhere far away, the loneliness that surrounded him when Maglor was not there, and their inability to settle somewhere and live together. He had begun to turn to Lúthien more and more, who he felt could give him the constancy and stability that he needed. He felt that he loved her and he knew she had affection for him. But did he have the strength to give up his beautiful Noldorin lover?

He sighed and turned to face Maglor. He stared at him and stroked the dark hair that fell over one side of his face. With sensitive fingers he traced the slender dark eyebrows and looked into the dark grey eyes, full of tenderness and sorrow. He leaned forward and kissed his fine, strong nose, and then let his lips slide to kiss Maglor's, his body becoming aroused by the feel of their familiar softness. He pressed himself to Maglor's side.

With his other hand, Daeron stroked Maglor's body under the covers, feeling the hard muscles and smooth, taut skin, while Maglor smoothed Daeron's hair and kissed the top of his head. Daeron hugged the warrior closely before he spread Maglor's strong legs apart with a slender knee. Maglor responded by shuddering with a deep sigh. Daeron moved against Maglor's side, enjoying the friction he created, exciting himself into a state of blissful lust. The Noldorin prince responded by moaning into Daeron's ear. Daeron parted his lips and nibbled Maglor's mouth. He continued to rub his knee along Maglor's inner thigh. His hand crept underneath the Noldo to cup a buttock, and he turned Maglor toward him. Maglor's breathing became heavy and his erection pressed against the Sinda's hip. Daeron slithered down the length of Maglor's body until his lips found the warrior's hard arousal. He began to suck him slowly, sensuously, preparing him for a lovemaking session that Daeron knew might possibly be their last. Maglor's cries resonated throughout the cabin. Daeron brought them both to the slow, passionate edge of ecstasy as he took Maglor from behind, filling him deeply and holding him tightly to his heart. They rested awhile and then began again, this time Maglor taking Daeron and filling him completely. It had become a ritual for them every time that Maglor had to leave. Each would fill the other with their essence, leaving a little bit of himself behind. They had memories to get them through until their next meeting.

When Daeron returned to Menegroth, Lúthien called him to her rooms in order to have a serious discussion with the minstrel.

"You have spoken to me of love, Daeron," she said. Daeron's face grew sorrowful, his eyes becoming large and filled with tears and his face growing pale and wan. "My feelings for you are strong," he said. "I feel our lives would be happy and peaceful if we were to wed."

"But what of Maglor?" she asked. "Your love is strong for the prince. I have no doubt that you love him dearly. How is it possible that you love me too?"

"With you I can have children. With you I can enjoy each day we have together without my fear of losing you. With him I can never have those things." Daeron's cheeks grew flushed as he realized the futility of his words. Even before Lúthien spoke, he knew what she would say.

"There can never be marriage between us, Daeron," she said, and took his hands in hers. "I am sorry. I hope that we can remain friends, for I do value your friendship."

He dropped his gaze and drew her hands up to his face, kissing them. "I will never give up trying to convince you to be mine," he said.

"You will never be able to give up your prince," she said softly. "I am sorry, Daeron," She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

After two hundred years of peace, Morgoth sent Orcs again into East Beleriand, keeping Maglor, Maedhros and Caranthir busy as they held their strongholds in the mountains east of Maglor's Gap. They drove back armies of Orcs that tried to swarm through Maglor's lands between the arms of Gelion. Maglor was kept busy defending his lands and people, and could not get away again to visit Daeron.

In 455 the winter was upon Fingolfin's lands in Hithlum, where the Noldor kept strongly protected hill-forts. Yet Morgoth devised rivers of flame that he sent forward across the plain of Ard-galen, and thus the Elves renamed it Anfauglith. In this year the Dagor Bragollach took place, the terrible battle in which Fingolfin was killed and the sons of Fëanor were dispersed. Glaurung the dragon, now much grown in size, came flying through Maglor's Gap, destroying the lands with fire. Maglor fled to Maedhros's hill-fort upon Himring before the High King gave in to despair and went to fight Morgoth alone in single combat.

After that, Fingon became the high king, and Maglor stayed with Maedhros for a long time, all of them feeling utterly defeated by the terrible battle and the loss of Fingolfin.Maglor could not leave to go to Doriath, and while he never forgot Daeron, there were many years that passed when he did not think of him because of the terrible troubles now facing the Noldor in the north.

In year 464, Lúthien met Beren son of Barahir by chance, and gave herself in love to him at their first meeting. Daeron, greatly troubled over having not seen Maglor for more than one hundred and fifty years, turned to Lúthien again, but she spurned his advances now that she had met her new love. Sick with grief over the loss of Maglor and angry with Lúthien, Daeron went to King Thingol and told him that Lúthien had given herself in love to a mortal man. Lúthien was upset by Daeron's treachery, and told Thingol in return of Daeron's love for Maglor.

"You have both betrayed my faith in you," said Thingol. "Foolish you both may prove to be as you stride towards your dooms. Could you not find happiness with each other rather than with a Man of the weak mortal race and a treacherous prince of the north? Why could you not have loved each other as I had hoped? I would have been happy, and so might the two of you."

After Daeron and Lúthien were outside the King's halls she said to him: "You betrayed me, Daeron, but I forgive you, for I know also the tragedy of your own love. Why do you not go to seek him and to find out what may have happened to him?"

Daeron looked startled by her suggestion. "How can I go to him?" he asked. "How would I fare alone against an Orc attack? Mablung has shown me how to use a sword, but I am no warrior. I have no army. I would not reach Maglor's borders alive."

"Then take Beleg, Mablung and some of their men with you," Lúthien suggested. "They will give you the protection you need."

"I shall think on it," said Daeron.

Daeron set off on his own into the east. He wandered bereft, and for many years he composed and sang laments for both Lúthien and Maglor, for he could not pass into the lands to the north to find Maglor, overrun as they were with Orcs. He traveled alone with naught but a single sword by his side.

After the Dagor Bragollach, Maedhros attempted to bring together all the lords of Middle-earth to strengthen their defences against Morgoth, who he feared would strike again, and soon. Maedhros feared for Fingon, now the high king and Morgoth's hated target. "Brother," he said to Maglor, "I worry for Findekáno. The enemy wishes to destroy him utterly, and I do not think our combined forces are strong enough to hold if he were to attack tomorrow. Why does his brother not join him? I hear Turukáno's army is vast, and his warriors fearsome. Why do they not come?"

"Our lives are all now driven by our doom – and the Oath," spat Maglor with derision. A bad taste had come into his mouth.

Then came the great battle called the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, in which Turgon's army of ten thousand did come to Fingon's aid, but it was not enough. Cut off from his brother and Húrin, the valiant Man who tried to help him, the High King was slain by Balrogs. They beat his body cruelly into the dust with their maces, and stomped his once-proud white banner into the blood that ran from his broken body.

The remainder of his men did not want to let Maedhros see what the Balrogs had done to their King, but he broke free of their grasps and rushed to find Fingon's bloodied corpse lying in the dust. His cries of anguish could be heard across the plains. They left a dread feel in many men's hearts. "They have not left a face for me to look upon," he sobbed as he held the crumpled body in his arms and shed tears upon it. "His beautiful face is gone."

He mourned long over his lover's broken body until, suffering from a madness of grief that could not be stilled, Maedhros, who had been delayed in coming to Fingon's aid by treacherous men, had to be dragged away bodily by Maglor and Turgon. Eventually they fled to Mount Dolmed in the east.

There, Maglor was out walking one day when he came across a solitary figure of an Elf sitting upon a rock by the river's edge. Something about this figure struck him as familiar, and he approached with trepidation. As he drew closer, he suddenly thought, "It cannot be!" His heart began to beat rapidly. When he was only a few yards away, the Elf on the rock turned his face toward Maglor. Maglor then fell to his knees and wept. It was Daeron.

Daeron stared at Maglor in wonder. "You!" he cried. "Where have you come from?"

"Eru above! You have not forsaken me after all!" cried Maglor.

"But I have," said Daeron, his voice empty of emotion, and he stood up and started to walk away.

Maglor rushed to him and grabbed him by the arm. "No, Daeron," he cried. "You cannot mean to leave me now."

"I do," Daeron spat at him. "I love not you, but Lúthien, and I go to look for her for she has disappeared."

"You do not know then," Maglor said with great sadness in his voice. "Lúthien and Beren are both dead. As is my cousin Finrod. And cousin Fingon has only just been killed. My brother is mad with grief."

Daeron grew very pale. "All dead?" he whispered. "Shall it end with everyone dead? Are you to be next? I go now, away from all this death." And he turned again to leave.

"Stay," Maglor pleaded. "I love you, Daeron. Please stay."

"No," Daeron replied. "Our tale is over. There is too much death here, too much grief. There is no love left in me. Only sadness. I go now to find a happier place."

Maglor let him go. He still loved Daeron, but he would rather have him be free than be unhappy. Clearly Daeron, with his grace and beauty and his unique talent, did not belong in such a land of wars and killing. It was better to let him go to seek peace and serenity, if that were still possible. Maglor watched him until he was but a small spot on the faraway horizon. Daeron did not turn back once. Then the grief-stricken Maglor turned to go back to his brother.


	9. Epilogue

Maglor paused in the doorway of the bookstore and shook the snow off of his boots. He knocked them against the steel jamb and watched small chunks of snow fall onto the floor. Then he walked immediately into the connecting coffee shop to order a cup of his favourite Mocha Java before finding a place by the window. He sat with the cup of steaming coffee in his cold hands and stared wistfully out at the passersby.

For the past twelve thousand, six hundred and eighteen years, give or take a year or two, Maglor had wandered Middle-earth. He tried mostly to stay out of trouble and avoid any wars or strife. At one point, during the time of Julius Caesar, he had wandered into Gaul and befriended Vercingetorix, their king. Then he had a difficult time trying to extricate himself from the king's company so that he would not have to join him in battle. He had just managed to escape with his life when Vercingetorix was captured. During World War Two he lived in Switzerland, and then emigrated to Canada aboard the Empress of Britain in 1957.

Maglor amused himself every few years by having new fake I.D. made. He had become an expert in finding the forgers in the towns he visited, and was not surprised any longer by his discovery that most of the best ones were high school students. Maglor was never interested in learning how to drive a car, but whenever he could he would ride a horse. Although he really didn't need any money since he knew how to live off of the land or by begging, once in a while he would get a job as a riding instructor. In that way he would make enough money to buy new clothes. Maglor liked the late 20th Century - early 21st for the "Goth" style of clothing, which he now always wore.

Maglor thought about Daeron daily. He also thought about his brother Maedhros and all his old friends and his family. He had never come across Daeron again in all the years since Daeron had left him. He always felt like crying when he thought about Daeron but he could never do it. The tears were there but they were not wet tears, the kind that would fall. His were tears behind the eyes: great solid painful masses that reached down into his gut and lay like huge lumps of sludge. They stayed inside his body and tortured him. If he could have cried it would have been easier. He slammed his coffee cup down and shoved it across the table.

The other patrons in the shop started and jumped when Maglor banged the cup down. A few of them stared at the intense dark man dressed with the piercing eyes that stared without really looking at anything. A few of them got up and left.

Eventually when he felt thoroughly warmed, Maglor rose and made his way to the rows of books within the "Fan Fiction" section. When he came to "L" he stopped to see if this store had lumped in "Silmarillion" stories with "LOTR" stories and saw that they had. He searched through the racks of books until he found a story that sounded interesting.

When he was on the last page, Maglor became aware that someone was standing in front of him, staring at him with intense interest. He could feel this person rather than see him. He lowered the book and, through the haze in his eyes caused by the surprising well of tears, he fought to see the small, slight, brown-haired person who stood as still as stone before him. He let the book drop to the floor and used both hands to wipe away the mist that obscured his vision. Could this be him? After all these centuries?

No, it was probably not Daeron, he thought. How many times over the past thousands of years had he thought he had seen Daeron in his meanderings? And every time a slight brown-haired boy had turned around so that Maglor could see his face, it was not Daeron. How many young lovers had the ancient Noldo taken to his bed over the millennia who had resembled Daeron? None had ever come close to the original in their ability to stir his passion.

But now a strange man was putting his hand upon Maglor's wrist and grasping it tightly. Maglor struggled mightily to see through his tears, and yet he knew the touch. He would recognize that touch anywhere, even after twelve thousand, six hundred and eighteen years. "Daeron?" he whimpered, the so-familiar name sounding oddly awkward as it spilled forth from his trembling lips.

His answer was a warm crush of long-lost but familiar, sweet lips upon his own, followed by beloved, tender arms wrapping themselves about his stooped and lonely shoulders. The electric surge of feeling that coursed through his body at the press of the exquisitely-loved groin against his own brought him finally to his knees, his new-found lover toppling him onto the floor. And there on the warm, brown-carpeted aisle of the bookstore, the two entwined Elves became lost in the dreams and memories of their love for each other. A few shoppers passed by, noticed them grappling in the aisle and left them alone out of either respect or fear. Finally, a rare employee doing his job bent down to tap Daeron lightly on the shoulder.

"Ahem," he said, "could you guys please take it outside?"

When they were on the street with snowflakes falling around them, Maglor said, "Where are you staying? Do you live here now?"

Daeron replied, "I have been traveling the world as an entertainer since we parted, but I never stay in one place long enough to become famous and sign a recording contract. I have just left the United States to come up to Canada because I heard that it is tough to establish a career in music here, and that suits me. I thought that this looked like a nice area and thought I might stay awhile. Do you live here?"

"In the Beaches? Yes, I do," said Maglor. "It's a charming area – quaint and quite unique – and it is right on the edge of a great body of water, which I like."

"The ocean?" asked Daeron.

"No," said Maglor. "It's a Great Lake. But it could be an ocean. It is big enough. There is a boardwalk that runs along the water's edge both to east and west as far as you can see. It is a great place to go for a walk."

"It sounds nice," said Daeron.

"Come. We can go there now. Would you like to walk with me?" asked Maglor.

"Yes I would, but later," said Daeron. "Do you live nearby?"

"Yes," said Maglor. "I live in one of the funny little houses along the main street, above a shop that sells products such as tarot cards, books on the occult, candles and replicas of costumes from "Lord of the Rings." It isn't much, just two rooms and a bathroom. I have hardly any furniture. In the bedroom I have only a bed, a chair that I can throw my clothes on, and a computer that sits on an old desk that I found in someone's trash."

"That sounds nice," said Daeron. "Could we go there first? To your home I mean, and then go for a walk?" He batted his eyelashes at the tall Goth and squeezed his hand.

"Of course," said Maglor, feeling warm inside. "Come on. It's not far."

They had barely stepped inside the flat, Maglor having to kick the door shut with his foot as they fell into a passionate embrace. They tore at each other's clothing in a desperate bid to reach the state of nakedness, to feel the other's flesh once more pressed against bare skin, and when they were both nude, they fell into Maglor's bed and made love. It was as sweet as the first time, and as poignant as the last. They lay together afterward, Maglor trying to kiss away the tears that streamed down Daeron's face. "I was a fool, Maglor," he cried. "How can you forgive me so easily?"

"Hush, my darling," crooned Maglor. "I cannot help it. I would have loved you always, and if I could not have you, I would love the memory of you."

"For me, I realized my terrible folly too late," whispered Daeron. "I have been searching the world for you."

"It is lucky that you found me in this land," said Maglor. "It may be cold, but we can get married here and live together as one. Will you marry me, Daeron?" he asked and kissed Daeron's troubled brow.

"Yes," whispered Daeron. "And then we shall be truly wedded, shall we not?"

"Mmm, yes," said Maglor, pressing tight against Daeron's side and feeling himself becoming aroused again.

"But Maglor, what about our walk?" asked Daeron.

"Later," replied Maglor, nibbling on the tip of Daeron's ear. "We have all the time in the world."


End file.
